


Fit For A Queen

by amfiguree



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:45:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amfiguree/pseuds/amfiguree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for the prompt:  arthur and elena actually get married, and gradually warm up to each other and fall in love</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fit For A Queen

It's black and inky-dark, and, when Arthur finally takes a careful sip, tastes like mould scraped off the castle walls. "Merlin!"   
  
"Yes, sire?"  
  
"What is this? It isn't what I usually--"  
  
"No, it isn't," Merlin says, looking put-out. It's been five years and Arthur hasn't been able to beat complete servitude into him. It's maddening. "But Princess Elena is still away visiting Lord Godwyn, so this is one of Gaius' brews."  
  
"Well, Gaius' brew tastes _ghastly_ ," Arthur says (not crankily at all) and sets it down on the table.   
  
"That's what happens when you've caught a chill," Merlin says, long-sufferingly. "Princess Elena _told_ you to close the windows every night while she was away--"  
  
"I know what she said," Arthur grumbles. "But I was reading a report, and..." He pauses, then, and glares up at Merlin. "Why didn't _you_ do that for me?"  
  
"Princess Elena forbade it," Merlin says, smugly. "She said it would just make you even more insufferable than--"  
  
Arthur's eyes narrow. "If you value your head, Merlin, you will take this brew and _disappear_."  
  
"You will take this brew and disappear," Merlin mutters under his breath, face twisted, but he takes the bowl and slips out of Arthur's sight.   
  
But Arthur barely has time to rest his head in his hands before Merlin's barrelling back into the room, wild-eyed and shaking.  
  
"What?" Arthur demands, already pushing to his feet.  
  
Merlin barely has breath to say, "Elena--" before Arthur's tearing out of his chamber, headed for the stables. His heart is pounding, faster than anything he's ever known, harder than at any joust he's had to fight, any enemy he's had to face. He can't even _imagine_ , if Elena's hurt, if she's - if--

"Arthur!"

It's Elena. She's on her horse, in one of those ridiculous, puffy dresses they both hate so much, laughing and _perfectly all right_ , and Arthur's pace slows. His pulse, however, does not. If anything, it speeds up, begins thrumming so hard against his ribcage he's certain it's about to break skin. Thoughtlessly, he lifts a hand to her, and she simply scoffs at him and descends from her horse on her own, perfectly graceful.

"Well, this is a surprise," he hears himself say. "You weren't due back till tomorrow."

"I received word you were ill," she says, smiling at him, her hair falling around her face like spun gold. "I thought it best I return to tend to you. I know how much you despise the taste of Gaius' potions."   
  
"Oh," Arthur says, cleverly, as she holds out a vial. He's distracted momentarily by the ring she wears - _his_ ring - and for the first time in the two years they've been married, he thinks _this is my wife_ , and is overcome by a wave of warm affection. It is, he realizes, not a new feeling at all, and hardly exclusive to Guinevere, as he'd previously believed.  
  
(As they'd _all_ believed, really.  
  
The night of their wedding, Elena had said, "I didn't think you'd go through with it. Not when--"  
  
"I have a duty to my people," Arthur had replied, curtly, without looking away from the hearth.  
  
She'd been silent for a moment, and then, quietly: "Of course. And I expect you will be kind to me in the days that come, but I won't mistake that for any sort of affection. Still, I am willing to be your ally and your consult, if you will have me. I only want what's best for both our people.  
  
"Perhaps when you are King," she'd added, then. "You might take a consort. The people would hardly object, and we could carry on between us a mutual understanding."  
  
Arthur had glanced up, then, startled. "Elena--"  
  
But she'd simply lain down in their bed, faced away from him and still in her wedding gown, and said, "Goodnight, Arthur."  
  
And--that had been that.)  
  
"Elena," Arthur says again, now, and - Elena must see the gravity in his face, because her smile melts away instantly.   
  
"What?" she asks, as she presses a hand to his forehead. "Arthur, what is it? Do you feel unwell?"  
  
Arthur simply watches her, marvelling at the change that two years of shared life can provoke. In that moment, there are a hundred things he wishes to tell her: that he's sorry, that they've wasted so much _time_ , that she's been better to him than he deserves, that he's grateful; that he knows now he loves her as a husband loves his wife. "I'm glad you're home," is what he says, instead, and the astonishment that colours her features makes him ache.  
  
The pleasure that washes that away makes him ache, as well, but in a different way.  
  
She slips her arm into his, tentatively, at first, and then firmer when he doesn't pull away. She looks like she might never stop smiling. Arthur rather fancies it.   
  
"I missed you too," she says.


End file.
